Ocassio Nova
by H.T. Elia
Summary: Blaine and his best friend Cecilia skipped school to explore an abandoned church that was rumored to house a ghost from a previous century. However, not long after they enter the premises, they quickly realized they had made the biggest mistake of their lives.
1. The Runaway Dead

**Story Notes:**

Hello people! Yes I bring you another Klaine fic! This one is a mini-fic however. Something I have been meaning to write for a very long time. THis will be my project as I continue to write Two Sides, because I found it extremely difficult to find inspiration while working on the same story, all the time. I'mnot sure how often I will be updating this baby, but it does have shorter chapters so it will happen more often than Two Sides!

This story is mainly inspired by sifi and time travel and ghost movies and TV shows that I love, such as The Others, Quantum Leap and Interstellar (especially INterstellar! Mind boggling movie! WATCH IT IF YOU DIDN'T!) So expect to be frightened and confused!

****WARNING: This story will be graphic and potentioally frightenining. Read at your own risk!****

**Author's Chapter Notes:**

Enjoy! And sorry in advance...;)

* * *

**The Runaway Dead**

"Wait! Not too fast!" Cecilia yelled after Blaine who was running recklessly through the shrubbery, not caring whether or not he ruined his school uniform. So what if he did, he could easily make his mother buy him a new one. Wasn't that what loaded parents were for? Cecilia tried to keep up with him, but she was fussier about her clothing than Blaine. Not due to her being a girl who abided by the twentieth first century standards of female frivolity. No, she simply didn't want to be maimed by the thorny primrose bushes growing sporadically around and over the muddy path. It was a path people seldom took. It was almost swallowed by the wilderness that grew around it, leaving nothing but a vague line that the feet of many devout Christians once burrowed into mud as they treaded their way to their sermons, week after week, centuries ago. Blaine always referred to the wilderness as the _forbidden forest_ because it led to the most feared and neglected historical mark in the little town of Arlend, Ohio; a building dubbed as _Satan's Lair_. This wasn't the only name it was plagued with, of course. When it was first built and for many years after that, it was known as St. Plato's Church, when it was first built in 1712 AC. After the unthinkable debacle of 1847, the place garnered other names: _The Governor's Sloth_, _The Bugger's End, The Viper's Nest, _and _The Reverend's Balls_. The names rolled on of course, like a ball falling down a steep mountain gathering a new one at every bounce. However, the one that won out all these years and survived the Chinese whispers was, sadly, _The Bugger's End_, and that came from a town that called its only 'skyscraper' _Dickens High-Rise_. As a child, Blaine never fully gathered the meaning behind the words until one of his so-called friends told him to go and 're-closet' himself at _The Bugger's End_, where it would be, as he so crassly put it, "the only place where you can get lucky in this town."

It was the first time Blaine came out to anyone. He was only twelve years old.

Rumor had it the church was haunted by a bitter young pastor, in his early twenties, who had been killed by a group of angry men from his flock in 1847, after they discovered his torrid affair with the Governor's son, a boy of mere fourteen. No one knew what happened to the boy. Some say he escaped before his lover was killed. Others claimed he was killed silently by his own father and buried under what was currently the Mayor's mansion. In light of these events, the church was ransacked and its doors boarded, never to be opened for prayers ever again.

It was hogwash, all hogwash!

Just like any old story, the events varied from one person to the other and it got so convoluted that Blaine found it very difficult to believe any of it actually happened. When Blaine went to Arlend's own museum—The Putters League—to research the building's history, he came out empty-handed. Not even one word, or one measly picture. It didn't matter, though, because Blaine loved that place just for its sheer beauty and age. It was a striking old relic, standing out among Midwestern suburbs, and chiseled to its gothic perfection by hands that roamed the earth three hundred years ago! What could be more exciting? Okay, maybe the pyramids of Egypt were, but in this little town, and during the banal months of high school, this was the '_it'_ place, and today Blaine was going to explore its interior for the first time.

"Hurry up!" Blaine hollered excitedly over his shoulder when he reached the edge of the small fllorest. "We only have an hour before recess is over!"

Too impatient to wait for Cecilia, Blaine started wading his way through the moor surrounding the stone fence.

"I'm trying!" She retorted breathlessly and yelped when a thorny branch caught on her nylon stockings. "Great! Now you owe me a pair of nylons Mister!"

No answer came; Blaine was nowhere to be seen.

"Blaine?!" she called nervously. This was no place to play games. "Blaine it's not funny!"

Another beat of silence passed as her heart thudded frantically. What if that ghost was real, what if he was crawling through the woods and found her here? Could ghosts kill?

"I'm over here!" his muffled, faraway-voice called.

Cecelia looked about frantically through the trees until she saw him jumping up and down and waving with his arms like a goof. She relaxed and continued on her way, tearing a couple more holes in her nylons as her most recent fear drove her to get closer to Blaine and safety. If her friend weren't so handsome and clever, Cecilia would have abandoned the idea as soon as he had suggested it. But there was that flare, that thrill which vibrated through him, and made her want to follow him wherever he went. Not that she had the hots for him or anything. Okay, maybe she did, but unless she grew a penis overnight, the guy wasn't going to give it up. Besides, being his friend was better. No drama, just good old fun and adventure.

By the time she got out of the woods, the hem of her tartan skirt was torn at the front and hanging limply.

"Shit! What am I going to tell my mom when she sees this?" She complained with a scowl.

"That you got mauled by a bear?" Blaine supplied with an impish grin—that cute bastard and his puppy eyes.

"Yeah, right," Cecilia snorted as she dusted herself. "Like that's gonna fly…." She might as well be talking to herself, because Blaine started walking towards the church, his eyes glued to the ancient edifice. When they reached the doors, Blaine tried to pull away the boards, but the wooden 'X' was hammered properly into the stone with massive nails.

"That's inconvenient," Blaine mumbled, arms akimbo and brows furrowed. He laughed when Cecilia tried to pull the logs off. Unsuccessful at her attempt, Cecilia deflated and defiantly kicked the door with her shoe. "Stupid pieces of wood!"

"You sure told them…" Blaine rolled his eyes.

Cecilia pulled her tongue at him. "I was hoping it'd be one of those moments where I could prove that men and women are physically equal…"

Blaine barked out a laugh, "As much as I want that to be true, you," he poked her tummy and she squirmed indignantly, "_Miss Dainty_ would never match my physical prowess."

"Shut up." She shoved his shoulder in return. "And I'm not _dainty_. I'm just a little unpracticed in athletics..."

"Suuuuure."

After giving up on the front entrance, the twosome took a turn around the church to find another way in. The tall windows were boarded in the same way as the front door. Blaine thought of tossing a rock and breaking one of the windows, but they were far too beautiful. As they wound their way to the back, they found a set of stairs that led to a small door that was barely two inches higher than Blaine.

"Ha! They must have known you were coming, Blaine, and fashioned a door just for you." This time it was Blaine who shoved _her _shoulder. The door was old and it opened with very little resistance. Inside, the hallway was pitch-black.

"I am so not going in there. It's too dark!" Cecilia shook her head as Blaine raised his eyebrows with his apparent suggestion to venture inside.

"Come on! We didn't come all the way here to stay outside."

"Nope!"

"Maybe this will help." Blaine pulled out his iPhone and turned on the flashlight. As the light flooded a small hallway, they were able to discern two doors. After a moment of serious contemplation, Cecilia relented and agreed to go in, and in this case it was gentleman first, while she clung on his blazer. The first door brought them to a broomstick cupboard, slash bathroom (if you could call a piss pot and an old wooden bathtub a bathroom) and the second room was small with a naked bed frame and an empty wardrobe. At the end of the tiny hallway was a set of creaking stairs. When they reached the top, they unveiled the curtained entrance and gasped.

"Wow," Blaine breathed.

"Oh my god," Cecilia intoned, "somebody's been neglecting their house chores…"

True, the place looked like a train wreck, but Blaine didn't care. This was history, and Blaine couldn't blame the little part of himself that craved to become a historian, just so he could unearth the truth behind this beauty. A layer of sand covered every surface of the church, from the altar all the way to the entrance and rubble was piled in a large area in front of the pews, where part of the ceiling had fallen off at some point. They moved forward, making sure to walk around the upended furniture, broken glass and discarded books. Blaine stopped at the stairs of the altar and picked up one of the books. Half of its pages were rotted by the many rains it had endured and the rest were yellowed by time. Blaine turned the pages carefully, and they rustled feebly with the effort to keep from crumbling.

"What is it?" Cecilia looked over his shoulder to investigate said object.

"It's a gospel song book," Blaine whispered reverently. It was all in Latin, though. Nevertheless, Blaine hummed the notes of the main melody like the learned musician he was.

"Panis Angelicus," Cecilia guessed quietly. She didn't know why they were whispering, but then the thought of the ghost returned to her in a flash and her sudden fear made her scan the premises just in case.

Blaine didn't heed her sudden fright and smiled to himself. "It must have been Christmas time when the…"

"Please don't say it," Cecilia said nervously. Blaine looked up at her frightened face and saw how genuinely scared she was. In that moment, guilt swelled in his chest, feeling bad for dragging her all the way here when she was so obviously scared out of her wits. Blaine shut the book and took her hand in his.

"Just stay with me, you'll be alright. I promise." He smiled sincerely.

Relieved by her friend's assurance, Cecilia took a deep breath and let go of her fears. Blaine was still clutching the book to his chest as they took the steps down from the altar. If there was anything worth taking from this place, it was the music, and even though Blaine was an agnostic, he still had a soft spot for classical gospel music. Maybe at their Christmas bash he could convince the Warblers to sing the old songs. But what would the crowd think if they learned the music came from _The Bugger's End_?

When they approached the rubble, Blaine looked upwards at the fallen ceiling and watched as the clouds passed by. The hole must have been very old because vines were growing down from it, low enough for Blaine to reach and touch their ends with his fingers. They were blooming with bright purple and blue flowers, mostly congregated at the edge of the opening. It was both a sad and beautiful sight, the flowers shinning ethereally in the soft light. Yet, the debilitating state of the building displayed the lack of love it had received in the past century. Like a neglected child abandoned by his family, or maybe he was reflecting himself on the state of the building too much.

A loud groan pulled Blaine out of his trance and he looked around, fear coursing through his body for the first time since he stepped foot in the building. Cecilia had let go of his hand without him noticing and walked down the aisle to admire the stained windows. However, when their eyes met, she too was frozen with fear.

"Do you think it's the ghost?" Cecilia whispered loudly, but Blaine didn't answer and continued to inspect the place.

The building groaned once again and this time it was louder and longer. Then he heard a crack and saw the debris fall from the ceiling. Then Blaine looked up at the right moment and watched as the old chandelier made its break from the ceiling and down over….

"CECILIA!" Blaine screamed and ran towards his petrified friend. He pushed her out of the way just in the nick of time, knocking her out cold as she fell backwards against the hard, marble floor.

Then the deafening crash came.

Minutes later, Cecilia was woken by a dull ache in the back of her head and the sound of silently echoing sobs. She rubbed her head and groaned as she sat up, but when she opened her eyes, she lost all the air in her lungs. A few inches away, was Blaine, grotesquely stuck under the chandelier. He was lying face down, barely moving. Cecilia scrambled towards him on her hands and knees, but she slipped as her palms slid over the wetness and fell into the pool of blood forming around Blaine's chest.

"Oh my god…oh my god….fuck…oh my god…Blaine!" she rambled as she righted herself. She wanted to touch him, but her hands flitted over him, too scared of hurting him more.

"Cecilia," Blaine's voice cracked as he reached out his trembling hand. Cecilia immediately took it between hers and held it against her erratic, beating chest. His big eyes were wide open and filled with a fear she had never seen before. It was strange and so wrong; Blaine shouldn't be looking at her like that. He was the one who was supposed to smile all the time!

"Blaine, Blaine…please…Blaine…what should I do, Blaine!" she blubbered, tears running furiously down her face.

"I c..c..can't feel m..my legs," Blaine sputtered, and coughed weakly as blood leaked from his mouth.

Seeing him struggle like this, Cecilia's mind finally caught up and she immediately pulled out her phone and dialed 911 with a shaking hand. What the hell was she thinking asking Blaine for help when she was the capable one? How fucking stupid was she?

"We need an ambulance please!" she burst out. "M…my friend…he's hurt! Please! We…we're at the abandoned church…What happened?" she repeated the operator's question dumbly as she fought to collect the right words. "A…a…a…chandelier fell on him and there's blood everywhere! PLEASE HURRY UP!"

She then dropped the phone, unable to find the strength to hold it anymore, and tightened her grip on Blaine's hand. She brushed his cheek with her other hand, smudging his skin with blood.

"Stay with me, Blaine. They'll be here soon. You'll be alright."

"You p…You p…promise?"

"Yes. Yes, I promise."

* * *

_The Arlend Sun_

_Sept 26, 2011_

**_A SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD TEEN KILLED BY A FALLEN CHANDELIER!_**

_At the infamous St. Plato's abandoned church, a boy was crushed by a fallen chandelier when he and his friend skipped school to go on a little adventure. Sadly, neither of the students had any idea of the haphazard shape the church was in and subsequently put both their lives at stake. According to his best friend's allegations, the young man had pushed her out of harms way before the chandelier fell on her head. No comments were made by his parents except for the request for privacy for them and their family as they mourn the sudden and tragic death of their youngest son._

_"I bet you it was that ghost haunting the church that dropped that chandelier. Why do you think no one ever went there? We always hear weird noises coming from that place at night," said the closest neighbour to the church._

_"This place should have been torn down ages ago. The town has obviously given up on it, and because of it a poor kid had to lose his life," said a cop at the scene._

_There has been no response from the Mayor except for deep condolences to the family and a promise to block off the historical mark with high wire fences to avoid any future accidents._

_On one hand I agree with the town council not wanting to bring down such a historical mark, but on the other hand, why keep it if they_'ll n_ever put the effort to renovate the relic. I smell something fishy. So what do you think? Was the boy's chivalry worth losing his life for? Should the town finally bring down the church? Please leave your comments below!_

_Bradley Ian Murphy,_

_Bringing you Arlend's news every day!_

**Chapter End Notes:**

So what do you think? I know it's still a bit ambiguious right now, but the fun (or terrorr. Depends on how you look at it!) will start on the next chapter! :)

Drop a line and let me know your feels.


	2. A Dream's Reality

**Author's Chapter Notes:**

Here we go! Hope you like it. Let me know what you think :).

* * *

**A Dream's Reality**

Dr. Caro scanned the erratically beeping machines for signs of change in her patient's vitals. The twelve-year-old was convulsing: legs and arms thrashing, neck muscles tightening and eyes rolling back into his head as his body took on the full force of his seizure. She had hoped the new diet and natural drug treatment would help alleviate the spasms, but the spikes on the charts in front of her eyes unfolded in the same manner they did since they day his condition had started.

"Hold on little soldier," the nurse coaxed the boy as she held him in his side-position and made sure the tubes and wires stayed in place. It was his last seizure of the night and, usually, the worst of them all. When the fit passed, the boy sagged like a rag doll onto the mattress, his white-knuckled hands loosening their grip on the butterfly-patterned sheets adorning his bed.

"My god, he's tough. More than a hundred seizures and he's still going strong," the doctor said to herself. The nurse nodded in incredulous agreement. "How can he suffer so many seizures and never sustain any damage?"

"The world is full of miracles in disguise," Nurse Schatz replied.

Dr. Caro smiled at the nurse and picked up her clipboard. "No…I don't believe in miracles. It's too easy to call unexplained phenomenon a miracle. There is an action behind every reaction. We need to keep digging."

The first time Dr. Caro met the boy at Sigmund's Hospital in New York City, he appeared so fragile with his scrawny, long limbs and soft, chestnut hair. His pearly skin was so delicate, faintly exposing blue veins on his neck and temples and his eyes were of soft cerulean. When it came to the seizures, however, his body took on the fight of a wild stallion. It had been a month ago since the wretched tween had been rolled into the hospital, his little body racked with violent spasms. They did every test possible to figure out the cause—MRI, EEG and genetic testing to name a few—but they were all inconclusive. The final, and very loose, diagnosis was epilepsy. The nature of the seizures were similar, yet there were differences that threw the doctors into a loop. Strangely, and veritably puzzling, the seizures came at recurring intervals: 7:01 p.m., 8:09 p.m., 10:30 p.m., 11:03 p.m. and 2: 03 a.m., on the dot. Each was gradually fiercer and longer than the last. What baffled the doctors the most was the boy's resilience, and the lack of brain damage he had sustained. Doctors from all over the world came to see him, wanting to meet the wonder boy who survived hundreds of seizures, barely unscathed. Furthermore, the disabilities that plagued children with epilepsy seemed to elude this boy. In fact, after the first seizure, the boy exhibited unprecedented levels of genius, especially in the fields of science, linguistics and mathematics. It was as if a dormant gene had been awakened.

The only symptoms that didn't escape the boy were depression and chronic fatigue. On top of the physically taxing seizures, and no thanks to the doctors' thirst for knowledge about his mysterious condition, the constant probing and indefatigable monitoring added to his already backbreaking exhaustion. Moreover, instead of letting him work on the homework his school had allotted for his hospital duration, the poor boy was given far more complicated material – enough to make Stephen Hawking want to quit science indefinitely. He met so many doctors, he couldn't even remember most their names and faces. Even parents and family members with epileptic relatives came to see the boy who held the possible cure for their loved ones. To derail the invasive experiments and uninvited visitors, the boy became mute and unresponsive. Only one doctor survived his shunning. Dr. Caro, the sweet Italian lady with beautiful red hair and a motherly face. She was the only doctor who genuinely cared for his wellbeing. It was she who recommended his relocation from the hospital, so as to remove any added stress that would impede the cure for his condition. Thanks to her compassion, the boy was now at home in his own bed, with a hired nurse—Nurse Schatz— and Dr. Caro to look after him day and night.

The boy opened his eyes and looked straight at Dr. Caro. He was completely alert, and the recognition in his eyes was enough evidence to tell her that the boy's brain was still in working order. His body, however, wasn't as alert; his eyes were filled with unshed tears, pooling at the edge from sheer exhaustion, and his skin was shining with sweat. Quietly, the door opened, and the boy's mother walked in with a book clutched to her chest, and a gentle smile gracing her face.

"Hello, Elizabeth," Dr. Cora greeted. "We should be ready in just a minute."

"Thank you, Angelina," the mother replied gratefully. She knew how hard these ladies were working, and she was immensely glad that they had been able to find such a wonderful team to look after her son. Elizabeth stood by the bedpost watching Nurse Schatz as she cleaned the boy up and helped him change into a fresh set of pajamas. He looked so ill and withdrawn, so different from the lively boy with a disposition for curiosity. How she wished time had stopped one day shy of his first seizure.

It had happened on his birthday. He was opening the presents they had promised him—a golden flip-phone and a Toshiba laptop—when suddenly his entire body seized and arched, sending him to the floor in a convulsive fit. Her heart ached at the memory, but even though her insides were twisted with sorrow, the smile she wore for her son was always encouraging. No child should bare their mother's misery.

"You know where to find us," Dr. Cora said kindly, before she and Nurse Schatz stepped out of the room.

"Hi there, sweetheart," she said to her brave and beautiful boy as she sat in the chair posing by his bed. She widened her smile slightly as she pulled away the mouth guard and wiped a reddish streak of spit off his chin.

"Hi," The tween croaked while reaching for her hand. She took it without hesitation.

"Ready for your story?"

The boy smiled tiredly and nodded. In nothing flat, his mother began to read _The Amber Spyglass. _It was the final part of _His Dark Materials _series, which he never had the chance to finish once he fell ill. Upon his request, his mother bought the last book and continued the adventures of Will and Lyra, as they traveled the worlds to find the meaning of life. Two pages in, however, his eyes began to droop and sleep robbed him of his consciousness. His mother shut the book and eased back into her chair. Silently, she prayed to whomever was out there—a God, a greater being, or whatever energy that governed the universe—to bring back the happy life her son once had, and to eliminate all uncertainty. Every day she lived in constant fear of losing her son, so much that it seeped into her dreams, where she would watch her boy laying in his coffin, eyes shut and body unnaturally still.

A creak from the bedroom door interrupted her silent prayer. She looked up to find her husband walking towards their sleeping son. Unlike her, the man carried his pain on his face, digging into the lines that creased his eyes and the corners of his mouth. He looked much older than his years; he had yet to turn forty. How much he had changed! When she first met him, he had a bleak outlook on the world, and absolutely detested children. Just the idea of having one of his own was disgusting and grossly narcissistic. To him, having children was like creating carbon copies of themselves, and at the time he definitely didn't like himself enough to do so. He didn't want someone to look like him running around, making the same mistakes he had made in life. That was until… the accident happened. She perfectly recalled the moment she had announced her pregnancy, and how extremely opposed he was to the whole thing. The next day, he'd disappeared, and it wasn't until the day his boy was born that he had the courage to show his face. When he held the snuffling bundle in his arms, he instantly fell in love with the little creature. It was then that Elizabeth knew everything would be all right. Now, here he was, looking down at his son with emotion that his pre-parenthood self would never understand – a look full of unbridled love.

"Richard." His wife walked over to him and circled her arm around his waist. Her husband answered in kind and leaned down for a quick kiss before resting his cheek against her dark hair. Together they stood by the bed, watching their son as his small chest swelled and eased with every breath. For a moment they both shared a secret wish that their little boy was merely sleeping and tomorrow he would wake up a healthy child. But the wish, just like the moment that carried it, was fleeting.

"Why don't you go to bed? I'll stay with him tonight," Richard suggested.

"All right." Before she left, she brushed the boy's fringe and kissed his forehead. "Good night, love."

As the door clicked behind her, Richard took the chair his wife had occupied minutes ago. He took his son's small hand between his own big ones and finally let the tears he had held in all day pour.

"Dad?" the boy's soft voice called, his tired blue eyes filled with concern.

Startled, Richard immediately wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. "How are you, son?"

The boy tilted his head and watched his father curiously. "Well I was sleeping…so…"

His father laughed. It was _so _like him to cheer his father up. "Stupid question, huh? You'd think an old guy like me would know better."

"That's true," the boy smiled as much as his sleepy self could muster. It was enough to warm his old man's heart.

"Dad," the boy asked with a serious tone. "I'm okay, you know. You don't have to worry about me."

His father looked at his son, eyes stinging. "Kurt..."

"Remember what you told me last time?" the boy teased.

"That you're a Hummel and no—"

"No one messes with the Hummels," the boy finished his sentence. His father smiled sheepishly. The boy then turned his head to the nightstand and nodded at the book. "Would you read for me?"

Richard acquiesced to his son's request and started reading. Once the boy was asleep again, he put the book back on the nightstand and tucked his son's arms under the cover.

"Good night, Kurt," he whispered, before he took the couch for the night.

* * *

_Where is she going?_ Kurt wondered every time he followed Cecilia through Dalton Academy's extensive backyard. It had happened every recess for the past month, yet he was the only one intrigued enough to investigate, while the other students were being professionally self-absorbed—as they would be in their adolescent phase of self-centred dramatics. Since the first day Kurt transferred to Dalton, he had watched the quiet girl disappear through a manmade, or more likely teenage vandalized, hole at the bottom of the hedge surrounding the school. The hedge was ten feet tall, sequestering the premises from the wild moorlands that ate up most of Arlend town.

Kurt had yet to get used to living in the countryside, having resided in Vancouver for the past two years—the curse of being the son of a British diplomat. He missed the hussle and bustle and the towering skyscrapers so much. This place was overwhelming wide open. His mother had never complained, and even though she was a Canadian, she didn't even bat an eye when his father announced their move from Vancouver Proper all the way to this shithole of Arlend, Ohio. This town was a dive compared to the previous metropolitan wonder he had come to love, and a day after arriving, Kurt discovered, that he could cross the entire town in two hours—on foot. "Easy Peasy!" their new neighbours had said as they greeted them at the door with a disgusting casserole in their hands. _Fuck that! _"Home is where the family is," he recalled his mother saying on that particular doom day when his father announced their latest move. Of course, Kurt's first thought was _What a load of bullshit!_ For once, Kurt couldn't disagree more. Vancouver was_ his_ home, and before that it had been New York City! How could they expect him to be okay with a tiny town that barely housed five thousand people? Besides, he was sixteen years old, god damn it! He needed a stable life and Vancouver provided that wonderful stability. Of course, it didn't matter that he disagreed, because he was 'too young' to play a vital part in this kind of 'grown up' decision. He knew, however, that their decision to drag him along was from fear of the possible return of his seizures. It had been three years since his condition abruptly disappeared—surprising everyone, including Dr. Caro who was completely bewildered by the sudden change—and yet, they still treated him like he was a precious wine glass. In retaliation, Kurt put his foot down and said "No! I'm not leaving! What about my friends? _What about my boyfriend?_" to which his father had said, "You can make new friends. You always do," as if his friends were nothing but shabby car rentals. As for the boyfriend, his father didn't even bother to mention him. Not that he opposed Kurt's homosexuality, but because he knew it was a foolish young love. To further infuriate his parents, Kurt threw a tantrum and threatened to run away from home, and, _Oh _did he keep his promise. The following evening, instead of returning home after school, Kurt left with his boyfriend, Charlie. To Kurt's dismay, Charlie's parents—whom, with good reason, though Kurt was out of his mind—whisked them back home that night. He met up with his parents at their stoop with a defeated countenance and an equally defeated set of shoulders. They weren't even mad and it irritated Kurt to no end. They were just happy to see him safe at home. And, thus, Kurt accepted his doom at nomadism.

When Cecilia got closer to the hedge, Kurt made sure to keep out of sight and hid behind the usual wide, veiny trunk of an ancient fig tree. The tree stood a few feet near the hedge hole, giving Kurt a good vantage point without being seen. When the girl disappeared through the man-made aperture, Kurt followed slowly, giving her a one-minute head start. Before venturing through the poky hedge, Kurt got down on all fours and inspected the hole for any cumbersome branches. Sadly his assessment was inaccurate and he ended up ripping the left pocket of his uniform jacket. But who cared about jackets? The first thing Kurt checked with his iPhone mirror was his hair, and miraculously, the coif was intact. Now that he was on the other side of the hedge, Kurt felt the sweet rush of rebellion run through him. It wasn't often that he broke the rules. Kurt had always been model student, with straight As that put his peers to shame, and a floor to ceiling display full of trophies that would make any parents proud.

Kurt dusted he leaves and dirt off his hands and knees and followed Cecilia through the moorland annexed by a large patch of evergreen forest. The girl moved forward like a specter, as if a silent voice were calling her onward, telling her where to go. It was eerie to watch, and the fog surrounding the forest didn't put Kurt's sudden restlessness at ease. Nevertheless, he put his right foot forward and followed the girl into the woods.

Within the forest, Kurt was enveloped in hair-raising silence. There was no sound, not any, except for his footfalls on the heather. The fog persisted as Kurt reached the pinnacle of the hill, and so did his rapid heartbeat. Regardless of the thick mist, there was enough visibility for him to keep walking forward without falling flat on his face. The silence was quietly getting to Kurt, making him feel as if he had been walking in the fog for hours, with no way out. Kurt stopped abruptly and turned full circle on the spot…or did he? In this thick fog, no one would have any sense of direction. Damn it, why did he have to turn around? He tried making sense of where he came from but he only had a few feet of visibility around him before his surroundings were obscured.

"Fuck!" Kurt breathed harshly. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Panic overwhelmed his entire being, and he clumsily resumed his walk, his treads turning to strides, and his heartbeat spiking in speed. Was he going forwards or was he going backwards? He had no idea. It didn't matter! He needed to get out of here. For a moment, Kurt contemplated calling Cecilia's name, but fear lodged his tongue back into his throat, and the lack of breath made it difficult to form the pronoun on his lips. By then, the question reiterating in his mind escalated from Where Is She Going to What The Hell Am I Doing Here. Kurt's strides turned into a run, almost tripping him over protruding tree roots. But Kurt ran, and continued running frantically until the fog suddenly dissipated. The change was so sudden that Kurt didn't notice the ground sloping down and consequently sent him rolling down the hill until he fell into tall, green grass.

"Ugh." Kurt pushed himself up on his feet and took a moment to catch his breath and calm his pounding heart. When he straightened up, Kurt momentarily lost his ability to breath and just stared at the sight before him. It was as if he had stepped into a completely different world.

"Oh my god…" Kurt breathed, his mind buzzing with confusion.

There it stood, with its old grey bricks and stained windows, ruined by hundreds of harsh winters and boarded with old wood_. _It was the star of his dreams; his secret kept safe. He had never told anyone about the reoccurring dreams he'd had during his many seizures. In those dreams he saw the same grassy moorlands and the same broken church. He was too afraid his parents would think he'd gone mad and send him to a mental institution. So, every time he woke from a fit, he kept his mouth shut. Now that he stood in front of the church, Kurt was beginning to wonder if he really was going crazy.

Kurt ran. He ran back into the forest, and into the scary fog. Anywhere but this place.

* * *

**Chapter End Notes:**

This chapter almost melted my brain, but it was worth it! Please feel free to review. Your opinion is valuable. :)

P.S. Soon I will have some artwork for this story.


End file.
